Bubbling water spilled over the side of what looked like a gigantic cup atop the white marble fountain. The architect, Henry Bacon, might have been reading the twenty-third psalm when he drew the design. It cascaded down in three waterfalls intersecting a trio of sculptures, classical figures symbolizing the sea, the wind and the stars. A larger pool collected the water below and spread it in a circle surrounded by a stone ledge. A perfect place to relax and survey the scene that was DuPont Circle on a lazy afternoon.
A young man ambled out of the Kramerbooks Store and Cafe by the entrance to the Metro Station. He bought two iced espresso caffe mochas and headed across to the Circle. He walked past groups of students in shorts and tee shirts lounging on the grass around the fountain and watched as they read textbooks and argued the finer points of philosophy and political science.
He found an empty chess table, one of many around the periphery where young and old could wile away a warm afternoon kibitzing or playing the ancient sport of kings.
He loved this game. After all, it was invented in India by a sixth century philosopher. Back then it was called Chaturanga and symbolized a battle between four armies, each controlled by a different Rajah or King. Over the years, it had evolved from four players to two, and he was looking forward to challenging his contact today in this friendly setting. He had decided that meeting out in the open like this would be safe. After all, if he had something to hide, he certainly wouldn’t be arranging a meeting in such a public place. At least that was the image he was striving to project.
He had been carrying a briefcase along with the two cups. He gingerly placed the espressos on the edge of the chess board, sat down on a bench, put the briefcase next to his knees, and waited.
Two blocks away, a minister emerged from the Chancery of the Indian Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue. Built in 1885, it was the oldest property owned abroad by the government of India. He was proud to be working there, proud to have an important office in the four-story granite and limestone building along Embassy Row. The Indian flag of red, white and green horizontal stripes fluttered overhead in the breeze as he headed down the stairs and turned left.
He walked a few blocks, scanned the Circle and spotted his collaborator. “A glorious day, is it not?” the minister said as he settled on the opposite bench.
“Indeed it is. And since it is warm, I brought you an iced espresso.”
“Ah good. Very good. Thank you, my friend. It is good to get away from the office and reflect. Especially since that car bomb that killed two of our people.”
“Yes, a real tragedy. Was it the Pakistanis?”
“They are denying it. This time, for once, we are inclined to believe them because there would not be a good motive for them to blow up an advance team trying to set up peace talks.”
“Unless they don’t want peace.”
“You make an interesting point. It is still very tense in Delhi. All the more reason to get ready in case all this talk of peace goes nowhere.”
“I agree. Absolutely.”
“Of course, we already have a number of weapons on alert, and some excellent new technology. But the Defense Ministry was positively ecstatic to receive Magellan. Our people are already incorporating the software and advanced details you so carefully provided.”
The young man took a sip of his caffe mocha and set up the chess pieces. He enjoyed receiving praise for his work. He had risked a lot to provide these materials to the minister, and he wanted to prolong the encounter. “Are you up for a game today?”
“Yes. It is time to take a pause from a difficult week.” the minister said, helping to arrange the board. “You begin.”
The young man picked up his King’s pawn and moved it two spaces to e-4 and said, “You were talking about technology just now. I was very pleased to see the announcement about Chandrayaan I“
“Yes indeed. Our very own spacecraft that will go to the moon,” the minister said proudly, as he took his bishop’s pawn and moved it from f-7 to f-6.
“With all that is going on in our homeland, I have been thinking that our scientists would undoubtedly have developed a version of Magellan on their own.”
“Perhaps. But with your help, we have been able to save much time and money. You have no idea how much your efforts are appreciated in Delhi.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “And I assume you are ready to hand over the boomerang?”
“I have the program and instructions right here under the table,” he murmured as he studied the board.
“I am amazed that you were able to procure this for our country. Absolutely amazed.”
“Let us just say that I managed to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I must admit that I am excited. The fact that we are working together to transmit this most important project to enhance the safety of our homeland is . . . how shall I describe it?” He paused. “. . . Very gratifying. Gratifying indeed. I almost feel like a boy with a new gift.”
“Where did you grow up?” the young man asked.
“In the old Bombay. My father always took us away in the heat of the summer though. And I remember one year when I was about ten years old, he took me to Kashmir.”
“Ah, Kashmir. I too have visited the mountains there, the Pir Panchal.”
“Yes, they are so beautiful. I remember we first went to Srinagar and stayed on a houseboat on Dal Lake. It was so cool, like a tonic.”
“I’ve been to that area, and I’ll always remember the colors in the highlands.”
“The colors? You mean the way they changed?”
“Yes. In the morning the mountains looked like light violet. Then as the sun moved overhead, they became purple and bronze. But as evening came, I saw the setting sun turn the peaks into orange snow.”
“Majestic indeed. And I remember the trees. The Birch and the Himalayan Spruce,” the minister said.
“Now that I think about it, with the trees and the mountains and the lakes, it looks a little bit like Lake Tahoe. Have you ever been out there?”
“No, I am yet too new to this country. I have heard of it, but I doubt if their Lake Tahoe has our red bear and our snow leopard.”
“I’m sure you are right. The Americans have no idea of the beauty of Kashmir. In many ways, it is better than Switzerland.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. Remember your history lessons and what the Mughal Emperor said about Kashmir, ‘Gar Bar-ru-e-Zamin Ast, Hamin Ast’.”
The young man chuckled and nodded his head. “Of course. ‘If there is paradise on this earth, this is it.’ It is all of this that we are fighting for, you know.”
“Absolutely,” the minister said. “We must fight, and we must win.”
The man picked up his queen and moved it from d-1 to h-5. “Speaking of winning, that’s check!”
The minister stared at the board and laughed. “A good game, my boy. Good game, good coffee, good conversation and . . .” he glanced under the table and reached for the briefcase, “. . . a good day.”
He got up from the table and smiled broadly. “You have done admirable work here, my friend. And you do not think anyone will discover your . . . ah . . . cooperation with your home country?”
“I do not think so. I have been extremely careful.”
“Good. Very good. We shall not meet again for a while. We wouldn’t want the authorities to detect any special relationship.” The minister shook hands, turned and carried his secret cargo out of the park.